Lawton shook his head moodily. "Nothing you can help with. I told Defoe this was going to happen!"
"What?"
He glared at me. "Man, didn't you just come in through the main entrance? Didn't you see that mob?"
"Well, I wouldn't call it a mob," I began.
"You wouldn't now," he broke in. "But you will soon enough. They're working themselves up. Or maybe they're waiting for something. But it means trouble, I promise, and I warned Defoe about it. And he just stared at me as if I was some kind of degenerate."
I said sharply, "What are you afraid of? Right outside, you've got enough expediters to fight a war."
"Afraid? Me?" He looked insulted. "Do you think I'm worried about my own skin, Wills? No, sir. But do you realize that we have suspendees here who need protection? Eighty thousand of them. A mob like that—"
"Eighty thousand?" I stared at him. The war had lasted only a few weeks!
"Eighty thousand. A little more, if anything. And every one of them is a ward of the Company as long as he's suspended. Just think of the damage suits, Wills."